


Meeting You - a collection

by CarmenOnMonday



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Conversations, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Short & Sweet, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:03:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 17,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18963955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmenOnMonday/pseuds/CarmenOnMonday
Summary: 17. Birthday loveIt's Eric's birthday and Dele is struggling to come up with the right idea of the gift.-------------Deledier stories in a collection of vignettes requested on tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I shouldn’t be turned on by that?”

They were in Jan’s garden, enjoying the beginning of warm spring, when Dele realised with terror just how domestic they’ve gotten.

In the past, he hadn’t even been invited to these gatherings; Eric, Jan and a few other guys liked to spend quiet evenings in, whereas the youngsters preferred more energetic entertainment, be it playing games or going out to the clubs. Back then, Dele used to give Eric stick and called him grandpa. He didn’t even bother to ask what exactly they do at their dinners. Nothing interesting, probably.

But then, they got closer, Dele stayed over more and more often, and when one evening Eric announced that Jan’s coming over, Dele didn’t really see any reason to leave. He stayed and watched them perform their ritual, including preparing the ribs, cooking them, and choosing the right wine from the cellar. It was weird and seemingly too grown-up for a boy barely older than Dele, but also fascinating; it was a chance to see a different Eric than the one he normally got to see.

Dele didn’t even notice when he became a regular at their meetings. Sometimes, it was just them, boys, so Dele fell into the category of teammates, but sometimes, they were joined by Jan’s family, and then… And then he felt like Eric Dier’s plus one. He never would’ve thought it would be a good thing to be considered someone’s partner, but God, it did. It really did.

He could enjoy being Eric’s boyfriend when they were alone, but that was it; outside of their happy bubble, he wasn’t granted such privilege. No one ever thought about him as Eric’s boyfriend, and they didn’t do things typical for couples, so every situation like that felt like freedom he didn’t even know he longed for. Dele kept coming to these dinners, even when it was just Eric and the Vertonghen family, because they truly didn’t care. 

Every such occasion gave Dele a little taste of what they could have if they ever decided to come out. When.

This time, Dele was late, which was Harry’s fault, because he wouldn’t help him choose the appropriate attire. Dele considered something casual, but on the other hand, it was a Saturday evening garden party, and every occasion was good for some dressing up, so…

So he spend far too much time choosing the right shoes.

Figures.

When he entered the garden, he was greeted by the loud squeals of Jan’s children; Layla run across the lawn to hit his legs on full speed and made him almost lose his balance.

“…oookay,” he said, after he managed to catch her and still stay on both feet. “I missed you too, girl.”

Layla kept rambling happily, in a language Dele didn’t understand even a word of, and showed him to the table. So busy with this little girl, who, for some unknown reason had taken to him quickly, he didn’t even have a chance to look around in search of lads.

Only after he sat down, he noticed them by the barbecue. Jan had his phone out and was recording the scene in front of him; the scene which included Eric working on the meat with a precision of a renowned chief.

The sight hit Dele like a train.

Here he had been, wondering what to wear, when Eric… Eric didn’t even have to try. He took Dele’s breath away either way.

Eric had sweats on, the comfy grey ones he wore far too often, the pair with a little stain that wouldn’t come off. Tucked in them was a simple white t-shirt, his typical choice, boring and predictable and absolutely magnificent on his muscly chest. No one should be able to pull it off, it went against every fashion rule Dele knew, and to add to it Eric’s white socks and his grandpa flip flops, it real should’ve been a tragedy, but…

But Dele couldn’t stop staring at lines of Eric’s body, enhanced by his simple clothes, at the look of concentration he had while dealing with the meat, at his long and unkempt beard, and his buzzcut. Eric looked so scruffy, so manly and strong, able and probably willing to just lift Dele from the ground, swing him in the air and place on his shoulder, carry him away to have his way with him. 

So, so hot.

Dele let out a heavy breath. He never thought he would be into it, but the thought of hiding in those strong arms, letting Eric do whatever the hell he would want to…

Next to Dele, someone coughed.

Dele jumped in place and turned to the left, startled. There, with a knowing smile, sat Sophie, Dele’s favourite Spurs wag (apart from himself). He felt the blush slowly colouring his cheeks, but even in his embarrassment, he couldn’t stop himself from opening his mouth.

“What? I shouldn’t be turned on by that?” he blurted.

Sophie laughed out loud. “No, I get it. I like my men scruffy too.”

Dele didn’t even get the chance to answer. A second later, two hands were placed firmly on his waist and he got lifted to his feet, with seemingly no problem at all. A pair of lips found their way to Dele’s mouth, and he only managed to let out a mumbled whimper before he got ravaged. One purposeful but not too obnoxious kiss later, Eric let go off him and let him drop to his seat, all smug about the effect he had on him.

“Hi, babe,” he said with a wink, and then he turned around, and went back to Jan, as if nothing has happened, with no care for what he has just done to Dele’s poor heart. And body.

Dele stared after him, still a bit breathless, and couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. In his imagination, he was already back in Eric’s bedroom, putting his strength and stamina to a good use.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "That SOOO classifies as a date."

“What you’re doing later?” Harry huffs out in the middle of his squat, directing the question to Dele who’s doing push ups next to him.

There’s nothing out of ordinary in his question. Harry has in mind a quiet evening spent playing Fortnite with lads, and he’s pretty sure Dele would be up for it too, but-

Dele loses his balance and drops to the mat with a loud smack. His head snaps up, and he gives Harry a weird look. 

“Nothing! What? Why? What are you-” he stutters.

Harry knows the face he sees. He has a kid, and Ivy looks at him with the same spooky eyes whenever she gets caught red-handed.

He whistles. “Woah. Thought you might want to play tonight but… You busy, I reckon?”

Dele diverts his look and focuses intently on finding the right position to resume exercises. A few seconds later, he mumbles something under his breath. 

“Sorry?” Harry asks, unable to decipher his muttering.

“I’m going to the cinema,” he explains, looking as if he is admitting to committing a crime. He keeps his eyes on the lads running around on the opposite side of the pitch. 

Harry doesn’t get what’s the matter, but decides not to force Dele to elaborate and instead settles on asking easy questions.

“Nice. What you’re seeing?”

“Some indie film. French one.”

Harry raises one brow at him.

“Didn’t know you liked such things.”

“…I don’t.” Dele states simply, and doesn’t add anything else. Getting any information out of him is a painful process, so Harry thinks he might just leave it. Whatever it is, he hit a sore spot, and it wasn’t his intention at all. He just wanted to find a gaming companion.

Maybe he should just go and ask Kieran.

Just when he starts stretching his back, Dele opens his mouth again.

“I’m going with Dier,” he says and then bites his lips. He’s waiting for Harry’s reaction. It only adds to Harry’s confusion. Dele and Eric spend so much time together that he’s not even slightly surprised to hear that they planned the evening out.

But there’s some tension in the air; it emanates from Dele, spooked, anxious Dele, who keeps looking at him expectantly. 

For some reason, Harry feels not equipped for this conversation. There’s something here that he’s missing, what with the blush on Dele’s cheeks, what with his nervous picking at his shirt and the way his eyes keep escaping to the lads. Suddenly, Harry thinks that Kate would be much better at this, she would know what to say, and it’s this thought that leads to another, much more important: Kate is much better at talking about feelings and relationships and all this emotional crap, and that’s why he wants her here. Because that’s what Dele’s admitting to. 

“Oh.” A big grin slowly creeps onto Harry’s face. “Someone here got a date.”

Harry’s careful not to sound disapproving because he’s not, he’s the opposite of it, but now that he knows and notices how flustered Dele’s about it, he can’t stop himself from teasing Dele a bit.

“It’s not a date!” Dele argues, halfheartedly, but he smiles, and finally relaxes a bit. 

Harry congratulates himself internally. He did something right.

“You’re going out to the cinema and then to some sort of dinner, probably, am I right? And then to yours?” Dele nods. “Is he picking you up? Did he invite you?”

Dele, who stopped pretending to work out a while ago, closes his eyes now and leans back on his hands, seemingly enjoying the sun on his face. “…he even told me to dress up.”

Harry chuckles. “That SOOO classifies as a date.”

Dele peers at him with interest. He keeps plating with his hair, and it shows exactly how nervous he is at the minute.

“You think so?” He blurts.

Huh. There it is. Without any intention, Harry managed to start a conversation Dele needed to have with someone. It’s clear he longs for the confirmation that he reads the situation correctly.

Harry looks around to see where Eric is at the moment; he’s practicing his free kicks, with Hugo in the goal, and few other lads lined up to take them as well, but every few seconds he looks behind his shoulder. In their direction, Harry realises.

They talked about it with other lads. They wondered, just a few of them, the ones who can be trusted, if Eric and Dele were aware, if they were willing to try, but that was months ago and resulted only in their swearing that if it ever came to that, they would have their back. Harry didn’t put much thought to it since, the sight of Dele clinging to Eric so ordinary that he didn’t even notice it anymore.

Dele clears his throat and it brings Harry out of his thoughts.

“Yep. Totally a date.”

“…and what do you think about it?”

Harry doesn’t like the uncertainty he hears in Dele’s voice.

“I’ll have to play with Trippier tonight, ugh. Horrible.” Harry fake shivers. 

Dele chuckles. That’s much better. Harry can’t leave it at that, though.

He kicks the uneven grass at the line of the pitch before gathering the courage to speak up again.

“I think it’s great. I think you’re good for each other.” 

“He’s good to me. Yeah.” Dele’s whispering, as if he’s just admitting it to himself.

“You are, to him, too.” Exactly at this moment, Eric turns around and sends a grin Dele’s way. The way Dele smiles in return makes him look like he’s glowing.

It warms Harry’s heart up.

“But what about football?” Dele wonders out loud.

Harry doesn’t really have answers, he’s not an expert, but he can speak from his experience.

“You play better when you’re happy. Even Poch will tell you that.” He actually did, multiple times. He cares for them. They’re in the right place. “It’s a tough industry and a tough job, you need people who support you. You need stability, you need family. You have to stay true to yourself, that’s crucial. Surround yourself with those who love you, that’s how you make sure you’re in the right mindset to play football. If he’s it for you, you hold on to him, both for yourself and for your football.”

Harry knows. If Eric is Dele’s Kate, there’s nothing he can do but take a leap and trust that he’ll find his safe haven in him. Everybody needs one. 

Dele smiles at him with such a honest gratitude on his face that Harry feels his throat tighten. Second later, he shakes his head, claps Harry on the back and runs off.

“Race you to the box!” he shouts as he’s already crossing the pitch. 

“Cheater!” Harry laughs and sets off after him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "He’s spoiled rotten."

“You wanna beer?” Dele shouts from the kitchen. He opens the fridge and considers the bottles inside.

Instead of an answer, he hears a sound of steps and then in walks Jadon, one of his childhood mates. It’s the first time he’s here, so he looks around with appreciation for the decor.

“Could have one, yeah,” he then mumbles and crosses the kitchen to join Dele in front of the fridge.

He whistles at the selection inside.

“Really?” he asks Dele, with a raised brow. “Fancy.”

Dele shrugs.

“Eric’s.”

Jadon sorts through the bottles of the most expensive beer brands, some imported, some from local breweries, and continues to shake his head.

“Don’t ya have some normal beer? Jesus.”

Dele internally agrees. It’s just his second week after he officially moved in, he didn’t go shopping yet so everything they have in the fridge has been chosen by Eric - posh, rich from the day he was born Eric. It shows.

Dele likes clothes from best designers, he likes luxury cars, but it’s when he sees the details like these that he realises just how different Eric and him are. 

“He’s spoiled rotten,” he admits. “Just take whatever.”

Jadon thinks for a few more seconds and then chooses one of the bottles. He makes a face once he takes a sip, but then just shrugs and goes back to the living room.

Dele’s left alone for a moment, and he’s glad, because once again he’s starting to think about how different his life is now to how it was years ago, months ago, even weeks ago. True, it’s him who’s considered the one throwing money around, but for him, it’s a new environment he learned to adjust to. For Eric, it’s normal. That’s what he knows and loves. 

But Dele, raised on the streets Dele, taken in by the struggling Milton Keynes family Dele would still choose the cheapest beer from the supermarket over the fancy stuff Eric always buy. What does it mean for them? 

It’s like Eric’s hearing his thoughts because that’s the moment he steps into the kitchen. He comes round to Dele and hugs him close. Dele automatically leans into his body.

“Why is Jadon bitching about the beer?” he asks.

“…he’s got a basic taste, just like me.” Dele answers, trying and failing not to sound bitter. He cringes internally.

“What?” Eric peers at him with confusion.

Dele plays with his stubble and looks for words to answer honestly, but not too honestly.

“We drunk a different kind of beer as teenagers. Guess he just still prefers it.”

Eric frowns.

“You should’ve given him your beer,” he states, as if it’s obvious.

Dele gives him a confused look.

Without letting go, Eric reaches behind Dele and opens a fridge once again. He turns Dele around in his arms and shows him what’s hidden behind the vegetables. It’s a familiar four-pack, one Dele has bought more times than he can remember. It just lies there, between fancy drinks and lactose free cheese, and looks so naturally. It fits in there perfectly. 

Dele stops breathing for a while.

“Eric,” he finally whimpers, full of emotion.

But Eric gets worried hearing his voice, and so he turns him around again to look at him with concern.

“What? What’s wrong? It’s your favourite one, right?” Eric investigates.

Dele nods.

“What’s wrong, then? Del?” He waits for the answer, authentically worried, and Dele can’t exactly explain why he got so emotional over the fucking beer, and he’s too embarrassed to even try, so instead he leans in and tries to convey the love he feels for this posh boy through a heated kiss.

Because maybe their differences mean exactly nothing. Maybe they only give them a reason to make an effort to understand each other better. Maybe it’s the differences that make them balance each other out. 

Dele’ll take it. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I really don’t care. You still look hot and I’m trying not to kiss you senseless right now.”

“Are you mad?” Dele whisper-shouted at the feel of Eric’s chest resting on his back and tried to get away from the touch, but there was a pair of arms sneaking through his waist and holding him in place.

Dele squirmed nervously, painfully aware of the eyes following their every move.

Eric didn’t answer; he just let out a small “mmmm” which vibrated through Dele’s back and chest, and continued to plaster himself to Dele, like they didn’t stand by the sidelines of the new White Hart Line, in the centre of commotion, celebrating with the fans their victory.

Like there weren’t thousands of eyes on them, right in that moment. Like they had nothing to lose here. 

Perhaps nobody would notice if they stayed just a bit closer to each other. They had crossed many lines already. The world had kept turning.

Spurs just won a match, an important one with Manchester United which could be a make or break in their league title race, and Dele himself was buzzing with adrenaline and excitement, especially after the goal he scored, but Dier, oh, Dier was a completely different story. 

It’s like his brain just switched off, and there was only this other body part that controlled his actions.

“Want you,” he whispered straight into Dele’s right ear. His beard scratched at Dele’s skin, his raspy voice echoed in Dele’s mind, and Dele would agree to almost anything in that moment, completely undone by the raw hunger Dier was projecting, if not for…

“Everybody is watching,” Dele whined, quiet enough so the boys standing just meters away wouldn’t hear their conversation. They had no idea. “Stop it.”

Saying no to Eric was the hardest thing for Dele to do, but there was this one last rational brain cell that kept screaming at him that they couldn’t afford to be seen like this in public. 

“I really don’t care. You still look hot and I’m trying not to kiss you senseless right now.” Eric’s words made Dele’s breath stutter. He could feel his resolve melting away.

He felt Eric’s arms tighten on his hips, and the front of Eric’s body - one strategic body part in particular - caress his back, slowly, rhythmically, and then thrust with an unexpected force.

“Eric!” Dele couldn’t stop his yell. It was too much - too much for the place they were at and for the company they had, too much, but not enough, not enough, more, Dele thought, I need more… 

His body responded against his will, leaning into the touch and the wet breath on the back of his neck.

“The things I’m going to do to you when-”

“Dele!” familiar voice of Harry cut through Eric’s dreamy voice. 

And then, at once, it was all over. Eric took the step back, and a shiver travelled through Dele’s body - shiver of cold or interrupted anticipation - but before he even managed to form a single rational thought, Harry arrived next to them. He was grinning at them both, glowing after the win, but there was also a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Already celebrating?” he asked. He was the only one who knew (because he figured it out on his own).

Dele was too busy trying to calm down his racing heart to answer. He felt too warm and too cold at the same time; every nerve of his body shocked after being teased relentlessly and then abruptly left alone.

He was positively burning, trying to breathe in slowly, and the fact that everyone could see it… It only made him flush even more.

“Mister goalscorer here deserves a little treat,” Eric answered teasingly and winked to Dele.

Harry’s eyes widened. 

“Ugh. No more details, please!” He looked authentically traumatized. “Can’t believe you…” he muttered, shaking his head, and left to join Hugo, who was standing closer to the fans and encouraged them to keep singing, keep screaming, keep celebrating.

Eric’s attention returned to Dele. The hunger in his eyes made Dele’s knees weak. 

He would be the death of him one day.

“Come on, babe,” Eric whispered, the endearment he used aimed at making Dele feel his need even stronger - the need to feel, to touch, to love, to be broken and then put together again by this ridiculous, surprisingly full of bravado man. Eric raised his brow and beamed at him. “Come on, can’t wait any longer, wanna feel your-”

Dele couldn’t let him finish; he turned around and almost run in the direction of the tunnel and their secret physio room, feeling Eric following him closely, their bodies just centimeters away. Too far, too far away. 

Not for much longer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Aren’t you supposed to be the adult?"

Dele should’ve seen this coming, really, they promised him revenge many, many times. He should’ve stayed alarmed, ready for it, prepared to protect himself from the attack. But he really didn’t think he would be betrayed like that by his own boyfriend.

Eric formed some sort of pact with Winks to mug Dele enough times to make him sing. Normally, Dele wouldn’t have let that happen, but their masterplan included Eric creating the distraction and Winks executing the mugs, and before Dele knew it, because he was still focused on Eric’s abs, and Eric’s smile, and Eric’s words, it was a done deal.

The way Eric joined Winksy’s celebrations made it easy to understand that he was involved in it.

It doesn’t sit nicely with Dele.

He ignores the way lads pose to the photos and instead tries to get over the bitterness he feels, he tries to think about something else, he tries to reason with himself - it’s not a big deal, it’s just mugs, Dele likes to execute them too, it’s just a playful game, but…

But the feeling of betrayal doesn’t leave him, and so he keeps coming back to it in his thoughts, the exhilaration on Eric’s face caused by the way he played him engraved into Dele’s mind.

Jan comes around during the training to check on him, but Dele shrugs him off.

Then it’s Harry Kane asking if he’s alright, and of course Dele says he is, what else could he say.

But no, he isn’t. He stays away from Eric and Winksy, puts his attention to the training, and if he kicks a ball with a bit more strength than normally, hopefully nobody notices.

The training ends, and lads filter out and are on their merry way to the locker room, but Dele stays behind, longing to let out the build up energy with even more forceful kicks. He doesn’t notice that Eric has realised Dele didn’t join him and stayed behind as well.

“Wow. You really can’t take being on the other side of it, huh?” he asks, probably with good intentions.

But Dele doesn’t laugh. He can’t look at him at the moment.

“Del, come on. It’s just a taste of your own medicine,” Eric states and it unleashes all the pent up tension.

Dele turns around and groans loudly, his hands in fists. 

“Really? Have I ever betrayed anyone? You?”

Eric stares at him incredulously. “What?!”

“Cause that’s how it feels!” Dele roars. 

Maybe he’s too dramatic. Probably he is. It’s just that… That they were supposed to be a team, Eric said, Eric promised that he would never, never choose anyone over him, but…

Eric lets out a long huff. “It’s just nutmegs. You’re a fan of them yourself, remember?”

“But it’s different! This. You. You’re-” Dele can’t form his thought exactly, his anger doesn’t let him. He can feel himself overreacting but just can’t stop.

“Dele, for fuck’s sake. How old are you? Aren’t you supposed to be an adult?”

It hits a bit too close home.

“Aren’t you supposed to always have my back?” He shoots back, aware of the hurt ringing in his voice, and he runs away in the direction of the locker room.

 

* * *

There are only a few lads still in there, and by the time Dele comes out of the shower, they are all gone. Exept for the one that matters.

Eric sits on Dele’s place, his arms crossed on his chest, his stare directed at his boots. He lifts his gaze when Dele enters the room. He looks so resigned that Dele feels even more guilty.

The shower helped him gather his thoughts. He knows he overreacted. He’s not proud of himself, but the hurt is still there, somewhere in the back of his consciousness, so at the end, he’s just tired and confused and would like to just go back to bed and forget about this evening. But he can’t. They need to talk.

Dele sits next to Eric, on Dier’s seat. 

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I’m sorry-”

They start at the same moment. Dele sighs and tries again. This time Eric stays quiet and waits for him to speak.

“I’m sorry. I overreacted,” Dele admits, even if it pains him to do it. “It just-”

He doesn’t know how to say it not to sound like a kid.

“I just. I trust you. Nobody else, just you. So even with the things like that, I just… I didn’t expect to see you plotting against me. It’s stupid. I know. I’m stupid.”

Eric stupor melts in just seconds, and then he looks concerned, no longer angry or hurt.

“It’s just megs, though? Del, I-” He’s so confused, but he also starts looking guilty, and Dele can’t take it.

“No, yeah, you’re right. My fault. I don’t know why I reacted like that. I certainly don’t have any problem nutmugging you, do I?” Dele laughs bitterly.

Eric slowly raises his arm and puts it around Dele’s shoulder. It’s strained between them, and it feels weird not being comfortable with the touch they’re so used to, but Dele fights with the emotion that tells him to shake the arm off and instead scoots closer to Eric, until their thighs meet.

Dele bites his lip and braces himself before he starts speaking again.

“…I guess I’ve been waiting for you to do me wrong.”

Eric inhales sharply.

“I’m so sorry. I’m- Everybody does. Why would you be different? I’ve been waiting for the moment you betray me, and then this happened, and it’s stupid, but it was enough to set me off.”

Dele waits for the scolding. Waits for the arm around his shoulders to disappear. Waits to hear “you’re too much to handle.”

But none of this happens. 

“I love you,” he hears instead. It’s followed by a soft kiss to his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Eric, I-”

Eric shakes his head and makes him look into his eyes.

“It’s okay. I get it now. I do. I’m sorry for not thinking about it. I would never betray you, Del, and I should’ve know it’s a sore spot for you. It’s okay. I won’t do this again.”

But Dele doesn’t want their banter to end. By now, he feels so stupid, like such a baby, and he just wants everyone to forget that it ever happened and for them to go back to their typical behaviour.

“No. It’s not your fault, it’s me, my insecurity, I have to deal with it, don’t change, please-”

Eric peers at him, looks deep into his eyes and then nods.

“I won’t, okay. But we both need to learn each other, you know? So it’s okay. We’ll deal with it together. It’s okay.”

Dele listens and believes and trusts. It might take a while before he stops waiting for Eric to leave him behind, but they’ll deal with it together.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Sing to me, please."

Eric slowly regains consciousness when he feels the bed move and the weight from the other side of it disappear. Before he turns to his side and opens the eyes, the room is already empty. In the darkness of the night, the light behind the door to the bathroom makes Eric squint uncomfortably.

He glances at the clock. It 3:47 in the night. He lets out a whine and lean down on the pillow again, irritated at the thought that he needs to be up in three hours. But he’s aware he can’t just fall asleep now. He won’t relax until Dele comes back.

Still, he rests his eyes as he waits, and when he realises it’s been a while and Dele’s still in the bathroom, the clock shows 4:04. 

Now Eric gets seriously worried. 

He slowly untangles the sheet from around himself and stands up. 

“Del?” he whizzes out, his voice groggy after sleep.

There’s not a single sound coming from the bathroom. Once in front of them, he raises his hand and knocks.

“Bebe? You okay?” he asks, getting more and more agitated. He still doesn’t get any response. “I’m going in, okay?”

Maybe he fell asleep in there? That’s surely the only explanation. Eric won’t think about anything worse.

He slowly pushes at the handle, giving Dele a chance to stop him, but nothing happens and so Eric finally open the door and walks in.

“Del? Come on? What’s going on?” 

Eric crosses the bathroom in three short steps and sits next to Dele; Dele who’s sitting on the floor and hugging his knees to his chest. He’s shivering, but makes no move from his position. Eric’s not sure he heard him coming.

“Dele, please.” Eric slowly extends his hand to put it on Dele’s back; he jumps, finally lifting his head and noticing that he’s not alone anymore.

“Oh,” he looks startled, with big tired eyed. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“That’s okay. What’s up?” Eric makes an effort to talk to him softly, not to spook him even more.

He shakes his head. “Just can’t sleep,” he mumbles. He look all of six old at the moment; soft and tired and groggy. Unguarded. Alone with his overworking mind.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Nah,” he admits. 

It happens sometimes. When he’s not tired enough, or he’s stressing about something. Eric’s not sure what it is about this time.

“You should’ve woken me up.”

“You need to be up early. Not worth it.”

Eric huffs. Of course it’s worth it. Dele’s injured at the moment, so maybe that’s the problem, and that’s surely why he didn’t want to bother Eric, but the thing is: he really, truly, is never a bother.

Eric puts his hand under Dele’s armpits and lifts him. Dele goes willingly, limp and tired to the bone, and Eric’s heart aches for him. He wishes he could help him. He wishes he had a solution to every single of his problems, but unfortunately, that’s not how the world works. 

Dele’s got some issues that Eric cannot just fix for him. But he can try.

He brings him closer to his body, tries to share with him the warmth of his body. He keeps massaging his arms, hums and hugs him and kisses him all over his face. 

“Come to bed. I won’t fall asleep without you, I swear.”

Dele nods and lifts himself up, on his shaking legs. When Eric stands up, he immediately invites Dele into his arms again. They slowly walk back to the bed. Once there, Eric makes Dele lay down on the side of bed that’s typically his because he thinks it might help for him to change the position and then embraces him from behind. 

“What can I do?” he asks in a soft whisper.

Dele probably won’t say anything and so Eric will have to continue trying to-

“Sing to me, please,” Dele’s answer cuts through his thoughts.

Eric doesn’t do this often. He wouldn’t for anyone else. But it’s Dele and the safety of their bedroom, and so Eric sorts through the songs he could sing and then settles on the Portuguese one.

Once he starts singing, in a hoarse whisper, Dele starts humming along. And then, one, two, three songs later he finally quietens down and starts breathing slowly and regularly. 

Eric keeps singing for a few more minutes, and only when he’s sure Dele won’t wake up, he lets himself drift away too.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I paid for half and you ate three-quarters."

The next time it happens, Dele’s ready.

As soon as a hand creeps into a popcorn bucket he’s holding in his lap, his own hand jumps and he manages to slap the offender. Eric lets out a loud squeal which cuts through the silence in the cinema.

“Shhhhh!” a women sitting in the row below them chastises them.

Eric starts massaging his fingers with exaggeration. Even in the darkness, Dele can see the betrayal on his face.

“What the hell?” Eric shout-whispers, visibly offended.

Dele shrugs.

“I paid for half of this popcorn, and you already ate three-quarters. The rest is mine.”

“Are you counting how many pieces each of us ate?”

Dele gives him incredulous look. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to share his food, it’s just that he loves sweet popcorn, and he really believes he’ll be able to enjoy it, just, just not in this moment, because his stomach is still too knotted to find eating – anything, even his favourite snack – appealing. But he just needs a few more minutes to relax, and then he’d like to have something left to eat.

Eric and his huge appetite. Maybe they should’ve taken two separate buckets, simple as that, but Eric insisted that they should share one, and he wanted to pay, but Dele knowsyou’re supposed to object and say you can pay, that’s just a good etiquette, so he did that, and then they almost fought until they settled on each paying for a half.

This evening is already full of successes.

“Shut up and watch the film,” Dele tells him, because the lady is getting agitated again, and because they came to this weird indie film Eric’s chosen, so he better enjoy it. Dele’s not sure what it’s about, even though he’s been staring at it for the last half an hour.

It’s not easy to focus when there’s so many thoughts spiraling in your mind.

“Why did you even want to pay for half? I told you I would-“

“Ekhem!” the female voice interrupts again.

“Okay, okay.” Eric makes a face but then lowers his voice. Dele expects him to continue on the topic and isn’t surprised when Eric leans to whisper into his ear.

Still, the sensation of Eric’s mouth right next to his ear, and Eric’s musky voice, makes Dele tremble.

“I don’t even care about the popcorn. That’s wasn’t the point,” he confesses, and then his hand is once again in the bucket, but now Dele’s heightened senses finally help him register: Eric’s fingers go straight to the bottom of the bucket, and they scrap it, massage it, and Dele can feel the tingling on his own skin, even through the box and his jeans, and it’s so close to the strategic places that Dele’s entire body ignites and burns. 

He lets out a choked whine.

Eric creates some distance between them, as he leans back into his seat, but Dele can see the smug smile on his face.

The next time Eric reaches into the box, Dele doesn’t slap his hand.

He doesn’t care about the popcorn either.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "So who is she and why are you dreaming of her?"

She’s there, and then she’s gone, and he looks for her everywhere, he runs through the maze of corridors which then turn into some forest and then into the pitch and then into a path by the river and the roads of Lisbon. But she’s not there, she’s gone.

No, she can’t be, she can’t, it’s not, not-

Eric opens his eyes and shoots up. He’s hot but covered by a cold sweat, and he can’t breathe in enough air, he gulps painfully. It’s hard to focus on anything, not while he still sees her, but then, there’s a hand on his shoulder, and he tries to take that in, and then the lamp is on, the darkness is broken and in front of him, he sees a concerned face.

“Eric?” an unsure voice asks. “You okay?”

Eric automatically nods. He doesn’t like lying, but maybe it’s not lying when you know you will be okay, you just need to wake up fully. 

It was just a dream.

“You kept saying saying some name.” Dele reaches to Eric and puts his hand on his neck, slowly caresses short hair he finds there and scratches the delicate skin behind Eric’s ear. 

He’s on Eric’s bed now, not in his own on the opposite side of the room, and Eric’s brain slowly catches up. They’re in Barcelona, for the Champions League match they’re playing tomorrow. 

Eric’s nervous about this one. That’s why his mind is playing tricks on him, he reasons even though it’s not the first time. 

He knows this dream, it keeps bothering him over and over again. 

“It was… Matilda? Something like that?”

“Matilde,” Eric mutters, the name leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s feeling slightly better already, more awake and reasonable. 

“Mhm,” Dele bites his lip. “You want to tell me?”

Eric hides his face in his hands. Does he want to? He’s not sure. 

“You know I won’t judge you,” Dele swears, and it’s in moments like that, when he shows his more timid nature, that Eric’s heart longs for him even more. 

“Yeah.” Eric knows. But Dele might not like the truth. To be honest, Eric doesn’t like it either. 

He’s not stupid. He knows the dreams reflect his conscious thoughts. He’s disoriented, truly confused, and he keeps analyzing what he wants from life, and what are his priorities, and what this mess of emotions means, and if he should just ignore everything and dive head into the terrifying unknown, or should he think about things he always saw himself having in his life…

And amidst all this, he doesn’t want to hurt Dele. Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself even thinking it would hurt him, but there’s a part of him that’s sure it would.

They both know they’re almost at the crossroad. At this point, it’s just a matter of time until one of them will take the final step. 

But now that it’s right here, at their fingertips, Eric keeps pondering if it’s really, truly, the path he wants to take in his life, because-

“So who is she and why are you dreaming of her?”

Eric shakes him head. “No one.” Even he can hear the lie in his voice.

“Dier.”

Eric takes a big breath.

“…my daughter.”

Dele eyes go wide. “What?!”

“Hypothetical daughter. I keep dreaming about her. Matilde.” Eric finally confesses. He regrets it immediately. A shadow crosses Dele’s face and he looks as if he was just slapped in the face, but then he seems to accept it, and the sadness he projects is even worse.

“I always wanted kids, you know.” Eric says. “I don’t know. With boys always talking about theirs, and with Tommy and Olivia growing up in front of my eyes, I just-”

“Shhhh, I know. Of course you want them.” Dele cuts in. He hides his bitterness well. Eric can barely tell it’s there. “What’s happening in your dream?”

Eric swallows. “One moment, she’s my entire world, and the next she’s disappearing. As if she was never there. I keep looking for her, but she’s gone.”

The beautiful girl he keeps dreaming of, little blonde one with blue eyes. Carefree in the Portuguese sun.

Dele looks devastated, and Eric doesn’t like it at all, but he can’t hide the truth from him. He can’t pretend it doesn’t cross his mind, the image of the family he thought he would have in the future. It’s not something he can just resign on, just like that. 

They’re almost at the crossroad, but Eric has to be the rational one, has to be 100% sure he’s choosing the future he wants to have. 

Just thinking about it is eating him alive.

Dele nods, and doesn’t comment. He stays silent for a few more minutes, just caressing Eric, but then he leaves and lies down on his own bed. Eric stares after him. He doesn't have the answer yet.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Can you be romantic for once?"

“Look at the groom’s uncle. Oh my god, is he trying to kiss the bridesmaid? Holy-”

Dele chatters while sipping his red wine.

The uncle in question gets led out of the tent in which the wedding reception is taking place. On the way, he trips several times, tries to fight two men who keep pushing him out and manages to spill his drink on the groom’s mother’s dress.

“What a joke! Can you imagine acting like that in front of so many people? Poor David.” David, the groom. Eric’s cousin’s new husband. “And what even is this song? There’s never good music on these big weddings.”

Eric doesn’t even comment. Dele hasn’t stopped complaining since the party started. Eric’s just done trying to reason with him.

“Look!” Dele exclaims and points to the dance floor. “Drunk bridesmaids are surely a sight to be seen. Cliche. Is it a scene from a film? When will people start to hit each other?”

Dele makes a disgusted face and keeps drinking the wine. He sports his typical bitch face. 

Eric gets fed up with his antics. “What’s your problem?”

“Huh?”

“You’re so bitchy, oh my god.”

“I’m not! It’s just… the weddings… the way people act, the atmosphere…” Dele shakes his head. “Terrible. I hate weddings.”

“Should’ve said it earlier. I wouldn’t force you to come, you know.” Eric says while staring ahead, with his arms crossed.

At that, Dele seems to realise Eric’s actually hurt by his reaction. 

“No!” he protests. “It’s… okay. I’ll live. That’s just the way I kill time at these things, I judge people and spread gossip.”

He smiles so sweetly Eric has a hard time trying to remain mad at him.

Sure, he wasn’t the best companion at this wedding, he kept frowning and complaining, but on the other hand, he agreed to come here in the first place, and it meant crossing his own boundaries for Eric’s sake, so…

“Come on, dance with me,” Eric proposes.

Dele looks at him like he’s crazy. “What? No way!”

“Can’t you be romantic for once?” Eric loses his cool again. “We’re at the wedding. It’s supposed to be a joyful celebration of love and commitment, but here you are, just bitching about every single thing! Can’t I just have one dance with my date?” 

The last line is said in a tired whisper which seems to actually resonate with Dele.

He makes a big show of finishing the wine and standing up.

“Come on, before I change my mind,” he states, fake-mad.

Eric can read him easily, he knows it’s just a mask. He follows him to the dance floor, through a crowd made partially of Eric’s family - to the right there’s Daisy dancing with her husband, and to the left, Mark, Steffi’s husband, is swirling with little Olivia in his arms - and when they stop, he finally gets to take Dele into his arms.

That’s all he wanted. They’re not hiding anymore, and so every time they get to share some affection in the public should be new and exciting, but because of Dele’s stupor, he didn’t get to enjoy it yet.

Eric puts his hands on Dele’s back and starts swaying. Just a few beats are enough to make him forget about their disagreement. He feels content, surrounded by his family, able to dance with the boy he loves like there’s no consequences of their actions. Dele’s body moving against his feels delicious. In the colourful lights, he looks even more beautiful than always, and Eric didn’t think it’s even possible.

Dele humours him and tries to keep up with the rhythm, even though he’s not the best at slow dancing. The look of concentration on his face tells Eric that counting the steps is not the only thing on his mind now.

“Sorry,” he finally whispers into Eric’s ear.

Eric just hums. He doesn’t expect the explanation, but he gets it all the same.

“…I just keep thinking how people get to do this, get married and celebrate it with their family, and yet they don’t even care enough to make it truly special. If I got to-” He doesn’t finish, just leans in and lays his head in the crook of Eric’s neck.

He does that sometimes. Bares his soul unexpectedly, like it’s the easiest thing for him to do, like he trusts Eric enough to let him see his most hidden secrets.

It never cease to amaze Eric.

“Oh.” He needs a second to gather his thoughts. “You know that one day it will be our wedding, right? And that it’ll be exactly the way you’ll want it to be? The best day of our lives.”

Dele huffs into his neck. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious. One day it’s going to be us.” Eric can’t shut up now. Dele needs to now. “It’s a promise.”

He doesn’t know if Dele believes him - the only answer he offers is a few short kisses to Eric’s neck - but at that moment, Eric is certain they’ll get to celebrate their own day in the future.

“We’re going to get married outside, in some beautiful scenery. Maybe in Portugal? Or here, if you prefer. Wherever you want. There’ll be only people who love us. I’ll look you in the eyes and tell you that I’ll love you forever, and-”

“And I’ll say the same-” Dele contributes softly.

“And then we’ll celebrate it as no one ever did. We’ll remember that night forever, Del.”

Dele nods into his neck, and for now, that’s enough.

For now, they keep swaying to the tune of some cliche 80s song, in the dimmed light and the smoke from a machine, and nothing, not even shouts coming from the drunk uncle, can break through their happy bubble.

They can be romantic from time to time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Can’t get enough of Portuguese Eric, I’m sure Dele can’t either but I’d love to see Dele get a little jealous like when Spurs played Portugal and he sees Eric’s old teammates chatty away to him and Eric laughing and talking back and Dele can’t understand a single word but Eric looks so happy and relaxed being able to speak in Portuguese instead of English.

Dele has seen Eric happy before. In training, during the match, in the evenings when they hung out together, with his family, with his dogs… Dele has seen many faces of Eric already.

He knows the wrinkles that appear in the corners of Eric’s blue eyes when he smiles. He knows how his eyes glint with joy. He knows the sound of his laugh - loud and open, when he’s surprised by something, delicate and fond, when he’s feeling sentimental. He knows how he snorts at something stupid.

What he hasn’t known before, and has been missing without even being aware of it, is a sight of Portuguese Eric. It’s like he’s a completely different person. His voice sounds lower, more masculine but also more carefree. He seems content, to the last atom of his body. Dele didn’t think it was possible to get even more infatuated with this boy, and he was proven wrong. 

The fact that Eric isn’t wearing a shirt doesn’t help. Dele observes him from the door to the locker room, after they played a friendly with Portugal before the Euros, and needs to remind himself to close his mouth before someone takes an embarrassing photo of him.

If Eric was naturally sexy, this Portuguese part of him made him a freaking model. His muscular body, complemented by the ease with which he pronounces Portuguese words and the beam on his face… Dele’s speechless.

He stares and stares, unsure what to do with this knowledge, until Eric turns from his companions and starts walking towards him; Dele clears his throat and tries to smile, but his brain goes into overdrive - as soon as Eric said bye to his old colleagues and turned to Dele, he changed into his typical self whom Dele loves dearly, but… But now that Dele knows his other side, he can’t help but miss it.

He wants Portuguese Eric to be his as well.

* * *

It’s not an easy task, trying to bring out this other version of him, when he keeps it hidden from the world and never shows it. Dele makes it his mission to hear him speaking Portuguese again, so he watches out for it, but Eric never does it. At the club, he speaks exclusively in English, even with Lucas. It’s the same with his family. (Okay, so maybe Dele’s started to listen in on his private conversations… he’s not proud of it, but what can he do?).

Finally, Eric realises something is wrong.

“Are you following me?” he asks, when Dele does, in fact, follow him to his bedroom.

They’re having a film night, but Eric’s old friend from Lisbon called, and so he left to answer the call privately. 

…Dele couldn’t help himself. 

“No! I just. I wanted-” 

Eric gives him a hard stare.

“I left something here?” Dele tries to explain.

Eric shakes his head and puts his phone back to his ear. He says something, only one line, in Portuguese, and it’s enough to make Dele go hot. Together with the irritation on Eric’s face… Dele’s ready to jump him, right here.

Eric hungs up on his friend and put his full attention to Dele.

“Out with it,” he orders.

“Talk in Portuguese to me,” Dele blurts. He sounds needy but doesn’t even care.

Eric’s eyes widen. “What?”

“You’re so hot when you do that, so happy, oh my god Eric you have no idea what you do to me, come on, say something-” 

One second Eric is on the other side of the room, the next he’s lifting Dele from the ground and forces him put his legs around his waist. He brings him closer and closer, until their nose almost meet. 

The fire in his eyes could melt an iceberg. 

And then he opens his mouth, and the long litany of unrecognizable words that escapes it is enough to make Dele feel shudders travelling through his body. He whines and lets himself be consumed by the fire. 

He hopes he never stops burning.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Sorry I’m protective over the things I love."

“We’re leaving,” Eric orders, leaving no place for argument. He shouts the words straight into Dele’s ear to be heard even in the deafening noise of the club.

But Dele doesn’t hear him, or pretends not to hear him, and continues to sway to the fast beat of the music. He’s barely able to stand on two feet and yet he somehow manages to keep dancing. Maybe it’s the crowd pushing on him from every side that keeps him upright. 

“Dele, come on!” 

Eric doesn’t like the tone of his voice, how it’s no longer strict and instead worried. He’s already tried reasoning and bargaining, so maybe now it’s time to beg; at this point, he’s ready to do it, just to stop Dele from looking like he’s on the verge of breakdown.

That’s exactly how he looks. At the first sight, he’s seemingly enjoying himself. He smiles, dances like there’s no tomorrow, winks to people around. But if someone looks closer - and most people don’t bother, but Eric knows exactly what to look for - the edge behind it all becomes too obvious. 

He looks like a maniac, with too big eyes, an artificial smile, and the alcohol steering his every action.

He’s in his own world, dark and smoky and overwhelming, where the noise drowns out every single thought.

Eric feels like an alien in this world; the music hurts his ears and the smoke makes him nauseous, but he stands his ground, doesn’t move a bit even when people bump into him, and he tries to bring Dele back to him, but…

“I don’t wanna,” Dele mumbles and raises his hands in the air to add even more flair to his dance moves. Eric only understands the words from the way his lips are moving. 

“Come on,” Eric tries again, this time stepping right into Dele’s space to stand right in front of him, their noses almost bumping. He lays his hands on Dele’s hips and uses just enough force to make him fall right into himself. “Come on, Del, for me.”

The smile on Dele’s face stretches, lust clouding his gaze.

He brings his lips to Eric’s chin and mumbles again, leaving a track of warm air on Eric’s skin.

“That’s nice,” he whispers, trying to slide his crotch against Eric’s. Any other time, it’s be much appreciated, but now Eric’s glad only because maybe he can use it to entice Dele out.

“Come outside with me,” he encourages, trying to sound seductive enough.

Dele peers at him from half closed lids and raises his brow.

“Then let’s goooooo,” he whines, the picture of debauchery.

Eric sighs in relief. He hugs Dele closer, the boy now willingly melting into his body, tries to hide his face from vicious looks and starts maneuvering through the crowd. Trying to get out of the club is an almost impossible task, especially while leading out someone wasted, but Eric keeps pushing because he knows once they’re outside, both of them will be able to finally take a breath. The alley outside a club is a promise land they need to get to.

And finally, finally they manage to stagger out. Cold air hits Eric in the face, but he’s glad for the refreshing force of it. They take a few more steps until Eric’s able to lean against the brick wall. 

He just wants to rest for a few seconds, catch a breath before he can somehow trick Dele into going with him to the car, but Dele has a different idea.

He leans in, all drunk smile and unfocused gaze, and tries to kiss Eric, but instead falls into him, their chins colliding painfully.

“De-” 

Eric can’t even protest because Dele is quick; at the second attempt, he manages to catch the side of Eric’s mouth, at the third, he captures Eric’s bottom lip between his own. His moves are surprisingly well coordinated and it’s enough to make Eric forget for a second, drown in the sensation because even though he’s a reasonable one, he’s not immune to Dele’s flirting, and the way he kisses him like he means it, the way his thigh moves between Eric’s own, the way his tongue keeps teasing him, with a desperation behind it, the burning need to feel more, more, still not enough… A thought flashes through Eric’s mind that no, this feels wrong, tastes too much of the desperation, but he lets it happen-

But then Dele bites him on a lip, and the sharp pain is a perfect wake-up call.

Eric jumps in the place, the realisation of they’re doing falling heavy on his brain, and he forces himself to put a stop to it. He places hands on Dele’s chest and pushes him off.

The confusion on Dele’s face hurts.

“Stop, we can’t, it’s-” Eric can’t even form a coherent thought yet, but he knows that he’s doing the right thing.

“Shut up,” Dele argues and tries to lean in, but is stopped by the hold Eric’s got on his arms.

“Del, baby, you’re drunk. Come on, we’re going home,” Eric rasps, his heart still beating too hard.

“No, I want you, Eric, Eric, I want-” He settles on showing Eric exactly what he wants by putting his hand on Eric’s thigh. 

Eric shakes off his hand. It feels wrong, with Dele barely standing on his two feet, but even worse with this empty look in his eyes. Now that the pretend happiness is gone and the cold air sobered him up just a tiny bit, the real emotions behind the mask are getting visible, and he looks terrifying - exhausted but restless, bitter and desperate to hide it. The way he struggles in Eric’s hold, trying to get closer, to drown in the meaningless physical contact, it’s- 

“Shhh, Dele. Del. We can’t, not now-” Eric holds him tight, forcing him to stop wriggling.

Finally, he goes slack in Eric’s arms, and it’d be a success if not for the heartbreak painted on his face. He drops his gaze.

“…don’t you want me?” he asks, in a changed tone. Vulnerable.

It hits Eric straight into his heart.

“Listen to me.” Eric brings him closer. “I always want you. Always. But you’re drunk and not in the right place right now, and maybe you think you want it now, but you’ll feel bad later. I can’t let that happen, okay? Do you understand me?”

Maybe he shouldn’t treat him as cautiously though, because Dele snaps again.

“I know what I’m doing!”

Eric glares at him.

“You drunk half of the bar’s stock. It’s enough. You need some sleep.”

Dele shakes his head.

“I’m going back!” he shouts and tries to escape from Eric’s hold again.

“You’re not going anywhere!”

“And what’s your deal?! I’ll do whatever I want, fuck off! I don’t need you here. Let me go!”

“Sorry I’m protective over people I love!” Eric lets out, frustration making him lose his cool. “I’ll fuck off tomorrow if you’ll still want me to, just one word and I’ll be gone, but for now, we’re going home, no fucking arguments.” 

Even though he knows it’s just a slur let out in heat of the moment, Dele’s words leave a bitter aftertaste, but Eric swallows it and leaves it to examine later because he knows the entire point is to hurt him enough to make him leave, and he’s not letting Dele do this.

He untangles his hands from around Dele’s body and takes a step to the side, just to finally move from the point where anybody can see them. Dele doesn’t move; he stares into the wall, seemingly done with this entire situation. He hugs his arms around yourself and seems thoughtful for a moment.

”…sorry.”

Eric irritation melts right away. He reaches out and takes Dele hand.

“It’s okay. Come on,” he says and pulls encouragingly. 

Dele stumbles and Eric catches him; once in his arms, he doesn’t want to leave. The entire way to the car, he keeps muttering something; only when Eric straps him in, he recognize the words he’s chanting. 

“I fucked up, I’m sorry, I-”

“Shhh. You haven’t. It’s all good. I swear, everything is okay.” 

Eric gets behind the wheel and starts the car. At some point during the drive, he’s sure Dele has fallen asleep, but he surprises him again.

“I’m exactly like my mum,” he whispers, brokenly.

Eric’s heart almost jumps from his chest. He wants to stop the car, but maybe it’s humming and the fact that Eric’s focused on the road made Dele open up, so he won’t risk it.

“No, you’re not. You’re not. It’s summer, we’ve had a tough season, after the injury and the Euro, it’s okay to want to let go, just-“

“Just not every night?”Eric can’t protest. That’s exactly why he reacted. After he came back from Portugal and realised where Dele spends most of the evenings, he got so worried that Dele’s on his way to self-destruction that he just couldn’t watch it any longer. And then, when he finally found him on the dance floor, drunk, yet again, alone in a crowd of strangers… He wants to get rid of that image. He never wants Dele to feel like he needs it to survive.

“I’m so tired of being a disappointment. So done, Eric.” Dele mumbles, his voice bare of any emotion. Just exhausted. “What if it’s in my blood?”

Maybe he won’t remember this conversation tomorrow, but Eric has to make sure he hears the truth, not this bullshit that kept clouding his thoughts.

“It’s not. Life’s about being smart and you are. It’s about having two feet on the ground and a goal. You’re extraordinary, Del, you’re so talented, you’ve got a bright future ahead. You’re a great person and you deserve everything. Just you wait,” he says, trying to put all his love in a few cliché lines Dele won’t believe.

That’s okay. He’ll keep reminding him, every day for the rest of their life.

And he’ll always find him when he gets lost on the way. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Be brave, sweetheart."

“Diet.”

“Mhm?” Eric murmurs from where he’s laying on the grass next to Dele. They’re both enjoying the sun, now that the training is done for the day. The air in Spain smells different than in England and Dele can’t get enough of it, so he forced Eric to stay behind with him. Not that Eric complained.

Shame floods Dele body. On the second thought, maybe he shouldn’t open his mouth.

“Nevermind.”

Eric doesn’t even open with eyes, but he frowns at Dele adorably. 

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

Eric is clearly exasperated, but he knows how to make Dele spill. He waits a beat, then a bit longer, and Dele can’t take it; he breaks the silence, even though he’s mad at himself for being so predictable. 

“We’re playing the final.”

Eric grins. “We are.”

“Champions League final.”

“Mhm…”

Dele realises he sounds like an idiot; of course they’re playing in the final, they know it, the entire world knows it. He thought it’s already sunk in, maybe it has, but it’s still too big not to make him stop from time to time and consider it again. It’s hysterical. It’s impossible.

It’s theirs.

“It just hit me that we had such a shitty season, but this ending… almost makes it worth it.” Dele elaborates. His hand in the cast keeps his attention; the bandage is dirty from the way he kept falling to the grass during training, and his fingers are itchy, but… ”Actually, no, it does, no almost,” he adds. 

“Just wait till we lift that trophy,” Eric jumps in happily, and Dele can’t quite decide if he’s being serious or not. They could just continue with banter but… What they’re going through right now feels too huge not to talk about it out loud at all.

“…you really think we can do it?” Dele asks, genuinely intrigued. 

“If we don’t believe, we-”

“No. Don’t give me interview answers. I’m not asking for a pep talk.” Dele interrupts. “What do you _actually_ think?” he ends in a whisper.

And then he immediately regrets asking. Maybe Eric will just ignore him and give him the same answer as before. Maybe Dele is pushing it, toying with the fragile balance they are all set at preserving.

It’s impossible to know what’s actually in their minds. The lads are a great company, and Dele agrees when he hears someone use a term “family” to describe them because they’ve been through _a lot_ together, but when they’re together, they try and stay positive, they believe, just like Poch told them to. They keep saying the same things over and over again. Maybe it’s an attempt at making those wishes come true: we’ll do our best to make the fans proud, hopefully we’ll bring back the trophy, we’re 100% ready to face the pressure… 

But underneath it all, there’s a slight fear that keeps Dele on his toes because maybe, maybe it’s just empty talk. Maybe they all think something completely different but don’t dare to speak up. Maybe all that Dele should be ready for is heartbreak, he reasons, and then feels guilty for letting himself even consider it.

He wants to talk about it, like you discuss important life matters at 3am in the morning when the world slows down and the other person feels closer to you than you thought humanly possible.

So of course he asks Eric, and Eric, true to himself, doesn’t make him regret it.

When he speaks, it’s in a different tone, solemn and careful, and Dele knows Eric understands the importance of this talk.

“I think this is stuff from our dreams. We’re going to remember this forever, you know? We’ll be old and barely able to move, maybe we’ll have Alzheimer-”

“-maybe you, old man-”

“-but we’ll still remember this. We’ll keep asking each other _do you remember how we advanced to the final in the last minute? do you remember the camp right before the final?_ I think that the time now, before the final, might be the best time of our lives. It’s not about getting to the mountain top, it’s about the road there, all the stops when you catch a breath and admire the sight. That’s what’s the best.”

Eric and his way with words. Dele internally agrees, all the details about the last weeks coming back to him at once - more happiness than he has ever felt in his life - and distracts himself from feeling them a bit too deeply by quipping. “Are you Miley Cyrus?”

Dier looks like him like he has no idea who that is and just continues to speak.

“But yeah, Del, I think we can win,” he states with the confidence Dele envies. He wants to drink it in and keep some of it for himself. “We deserve to be here, you know. I don’t care what the world says, it’s not fair to compare our road to the road other clubs have gone through. We managed, you know? When I thought we were done, we actually managed. There’s something in this club that just keeps you going, no matter what.”

Dele can’t name it either, but he feels it buzzing through his veins when he steps out to the pitch wearing Tottenham kit. They’re a bunch of misfits, no huge stars and talents, just good hearts.

As said by a famous poet, _clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose._

Dele mutters these words unconsciously.

“Oh we can. We so can. Maybe we’ll fuck up spectacularly, that’s our style too. We can’t delude ourselves.”

“…that’d be so embarrassing.” Dele hides his face in his hands.

“Nah. We’ll still have played a Champions League final, that’s already a pretty good achievement,” he says but then looses his confidence. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Dele wouldn’t. That’s exactly the thing - they can’t talk about it openly because for some of them, confidence is build through affirmation. Dele would never want to mess with his teammates. Or be quoted doubting Spurs.

That’s why he appreciates having the connection with Eric. The atmosphere of the serious talk in the late afternoon sun gets to Dele, and he opens his mouth again, without even thinking.

“But if we win and it’ll make Poch leave, or other boys leave, it’s not going to be the same, I can’t even imagine- But then of course I want to win! I’ve never wanted anything so much. It’s so confusing.”

Stupid. Dele feels stupid. Maybe he’s overthinking, maybe not addressing it at all would be better, but… Eric reaches out to lay his hand on Dele’s. He tangles their fingers together and squeezes them comfortingly.

“They might leave if we win, they might leave if we lose. That’s not up to us. We can only decide about our own fate,” he says, prompting another conversation they should probably have at some point, but not dwelling on the topic. “That’s why we need to enjoy this time we have now. Don’t look too far. Life is now.”

Dele finds himself nodding. He knew all of that before, Eric hasn’t discovered anything new, but still, hearing the words spoken out loud, knowing that Dele’s not the only one who considers all the options, feeling understood and supported - it’s enough to make corners of Dele’s lips lift. 

“Life is good,” he whispers into Eric’s cheek he leaned in to kiss.

“Be brave, sweetheart,” he hears in the answer.

And when he hears once again, just before the first whistle of the final, he knows he’s ready for it. Whatever way their fate will lead them, he is brave, and he is ready.


	13. Chapter 13

**i love u**

Eric frowns at the text that woke him up from his quiet slumber. He blinks a few times, trying to clear his vision which is still a bit blurred, and it takes him a second to fully catch up with the words he received. Once he does, he’s flooded by panic.

_are you okay??? what’s going on?_

He types and sends the answer immediately, already wide awake and full of worry. They don’t do that, they don’t just drop messages like that to each other. Even if they feel it (...and Eric does), they don’t say it; not casually in between the talk about groceries and plans for evening, not as a hello and not as a goodnight.

In the heat of moment, muffled by harsh breaths and whimpers, whispered into the other’s skin, maybe.

But not out of nowhere, on a crisp July morning, with miles between them.

Eric stares anxiously at the phone, debating whether he should call Dele. Is he drunk? Is he alone? But he’s in Greece, and there’s not much of a time difference between them, so it’s morning for him too. It’s not his style to party so early (or so late).

Maybe Eric’s being dramatic; maybe they are at this point in their relationship already and he just didn’t notice the progression which brought them here. Maybe it is, just like they say, that the absence makes the heart grow fonder, and miles away from here, Dele’s staring longingly into distance thinking about him, wishing they were together (the state which isn’t completely foreign to Eric). That mental image only makes Eric feel half warmed and half helpless.

His phone vibrates again.

**happy anniversary**

“What?” he mutters into the silence of his Portugal villa bedroom.

Eric racks his brain, trying to remember what kind of anniversary Dele might mean – they met each other in January, so it’s not this, and they got together in April, not that they celebrate it on a single day, and in July...

Another text Eric receives contains a little video, and just a glimpse of it is enough to kickstart Eric’s memory. It shows both of them, in their England kits (well, Eric without the shirt, but still), smiling so hard they could feel a shadow of it on their faces for days.

In July, football was coming home.

Video Dele jumps into video Eric’s arms.

He takes in every detail caught by the camera. It feels so far away from him, so distant, in completely different life left behind after the heartbreak that followed and the dreadful season full of contradictory emotions. And yet, it also feels like it was just yesterday, when the faith of millions carried them on and every day tasted like another miracle.

Eris still remembers the euphoria of the moment when his penalty hit the net and the world felt like it was imploding from all this exhilaration. There wasn’t anything else in him at that moment but love for football, for his teammates, for his country.

Until later, after the first minutes of bliss, when he caught Dele’s eye from the opposite side of the pitch. His gaze zoned in on his face and the world outside stopped existing.

Eric opened his arms and Dele jumped into them, a picture of pure happiness if Eric’s even seen one, and then, and then-

Eric stares at the video replaying the whole scene for the millionth time and he suddenly knows what Dele means.

He can still feel his warm breath on his ear, whispering, for the first time ever, these three words.

It was Dele who he said them first; brave, fearless Dele, usually too caught up in his insecurity to notice his own strength.

And that’s when he said it. Not in bed, driven by passion. Not during some dramatic fight or on a romantic night out.

He did it on the pitch, right after qualifying for the World Cup half-final, watched by billions of people.

“I love you,” he whispered, and if Eric felt on top of the world before, at that moment, he was on top of the fucking universe, every nerve of his body tingling and melting and aching to get closer to Dele, to get lost in him, to live through it all together, as one.

And of course he remembers it, and even though (or maybe exactly because) it’s still not a common thing for them to say, Dele chose to repeat it exactly a year later.

So maybe it is their anniversary after all.

Eric’s bursting with feelings, longing to put them all into use, to get up and take the first flight possible to hear Dele whisper those words again, and to say them back, maybe for the first time without any other excuse, just carefully spoken words said surely while looking straight into his eyes. Not a hint of fear or insecurity tainting them for the first time ever, no diverted looks, no hiding into each other’s body. And then, to show him, not in fairy passion but in a calming waves of pure devotion.

For now, he opens a new message and types those few letters he knows Dele waits anxiously for. He bared himself, right here, so that’s exactly what Eric’ll do as well.

_I love you. My life. Eu Amo-te._

And now it’s not only engraved into his heart and soul and into Dele’s skin, it’s also stated clearly, black on white, letter by letter, a proof, a promise.

Every challenging experience on their way from last summer to the place they’re at now shaped them into completely different people then they were before, and now Eric thinks how stupid of them it was not to just jump into it, not to love unapologetically, when, despite of the world imploding or starting anew, everything is bearable as long as they face it together.

And so he’ll tell him, as soon as he’s back where he belongs, with no more miles keeping them apart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy anniversary of england vs columbia, y'all  
> yes, I'm alive


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric and Dele are in Portugal when contents of their private Instagram accounts get leaked.
> 
> More fluffy than my normal stuff.   
> (A slightly polished version of the drabble I posted on tumblr.)

One glimpse at his phone notifications, and Eric’s face falls.

He’s still groggy, woken up from his comfortable slumber by multiple pings coming from the opposite side of the bed and synchronized vibrations of his own phone. At first, he thinks he’s imagining things, maybe he’s still dreaming – but no, he looks around and sees his surroundings in great detail, the interior of his bedroom in Portugal cosy and familiar, exactly the same as before, when he was still blissfully unaware of any sudden developments. Just as Dele still is.

He takes a double take and scrolls down through his feed as a vile taste starts filling his mouth. He shakes his head in disappointment. It’s not the end of the world to him; he knew the risks, he was aware they were treading on dangerous ground. Still, someone they trusted decided to invade their privacy; maybe this is exactly how being stabbed in the back feels like.

Eric groans and lets his phone drop on the blanket. He closes his eyes for and imagines Dele’s reaction. He doesn’t want to see it unravel in front of his eyes. Dele doesn’t deserve to have his idyllic vacations so painfully disrupted. It would be a journey from heaven to hell, in mare seconds.

Eric makes a swift decision; he gets out of the bed, cautious not to wake Dele up, and tiptoes to the opposite side of the bed. He switches the sounds off on his phone, and then, on a second thought, reaches for it and puts it into his pocket.

Problem solved, he thinks bitterly. He quietly leaves the bedroom and sleepily changing position Dele, and goes to the kitchen to prepare a breakfast.

 

 

“Good morning,” Dele says softly when he joins him on the terrace an hour later. He stretches his arms behind his head, muscles flexing nicely in his bare chest, and Eric’s heart longs for such image to start every single morning for the rest of his life.

Their relationship is not new and exciting anymore, but it is still full of love, and times and times again, Del manages to make Eric fall for him over and over again. Especially today, with a threat of doom looming in the distance.

Eric opens his arms lazily, and Dele steps right into them, flops onto his lap, and kisses him softly.

“Missed you in bed,” he murmurs.

Eric swallows painfully.

“I’ve made you eggs for breakfast.”

Dele beams and pats him on the knee. “My favourite. You are so good to me, I always say, and you always prove.” He gets up and goes to the other chair, then helps himself to a generous portion of eggs and start munching on them.

Eric’s enraptured by the scene.

“…what?” Dele asks, his mouth full of food. He swallows it, and then adds: “Am I dirty? Or are you waiting for a review? Five stars, chief Dier, good stuff.”

Eric smiles in answer. “Nah, just like seeing you half naked in my house, eating the food I’ve made. This is life.”

“Yeah, big manly man Dier likes to bring food for his delicate baby? Love you so territorial. Want to mark me so everyone knows I’m yours?”

Everyone does know, that’s the thing. Eric doesn’t say it, though.

“I already did,” he says instead and reaches out to caress Dele’s neck. The boy stops eating and stares at him again.

“…interested in going back to bed?” he asks with a wink.

“Eat first.”

Dele shrugs and comes back to throwing food into his mouth. He doesn’t care about the way he eats, always makes a mess of himself and the table with his overenthusiastic movements, and it’s not a very appealing sight to everyone else, but Eric watches it fondly.

“Hey, you know what I could use? Some fresh orange juice with ice.” Dele says in between bites.

“We’ve got oranges, you can make this juice for yourself, no problem.”

“Aaah, come on, I thought you like to provide? What if I ask you nicely? What if I promise you a reward?”

Eric shakes his head with exasperation.

“We can make the juice together, huh? Come on, give me some of those eggs, I could use some breakfast as well.” He’s not sure how much his stomach will accept, but he wills it help him play his role.

“Hey, did you see my phone?” Dele asks suddenly.

Eric almost chokes. “Wha- What? Why would I?”

“I don’t know, I can’t find it. Maybe it’s in the jeans I wore yesterday? You know what, I’ll go and see, maybe-“

“No, no, stay. Yeah, it’s there, I saw it on the sofa. Eat before the food gets cold.”

Dele considers it for a second. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll get it later. Food first.”

They eat and they talk, they enjoy a breakfast together as almost every other morning for the past two years, and Dele looks at home here, Dele looks happy and relaxed and in love, just like Eric desperately wants to feel too, and it seems brutal to be forced out of it, especially now, when they managed to find their perfect balance, when they thought they got it right. They’re not unsure kids who weighed every word and considered every gesture, but this is a completely different story. This is Dele’s worst nightmare.

 

 

Eric is washing plates after the breakfast when Dele sneaks behind him and plasters himself to his back.

“So. Where are these oranges? I’m gonna do it. You’ll see. The best juice ever made. I can provide for my man too.”

He gives Eric a peck on a cheek.

His hands start to wander down Eric’s chest and then stomach, dropping lower and lower, and Eric squirms, not out of pleasure but rather in panic, cause he’s immobilised with his hands in the water, and Dele is approaching dangerous areas, and-

“Hey! Isn’t that my phone?” he exclaims when his hand reaches into Eric’s pocket.

Eric sags. “Fuck.” Unconsciously, he raises one of his hand, and he doesn’t even mind that it’s wet, he runs it over his face.

Dele brings out his phone and takes a step back.

“Eric. What were you doing with my phone?” he asks, his voice dropping low.

“It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t know what I’m thinking. I’m asking. Why do you have it?”

Eric doesn’t want to turn around to see disappointment on Dele’s face. It will soon turn into panic, and then bitterness, and then maybe even more unpleasant emotions, and Eric desperately doesn’t want to see it.

“Look at your notifications.”

Dele sounds pissed when he starts to shoot words out of his mouth in a long ramble. “What are you talking about? Have you been going through my phone? I have nothing to hide, and it’s terrible of you to even think I would ever go behind your- Oh.”

_Yeah. Exactly. Here we go._

“Fuck,” Dele swears under his breath.

Eric slowly wipes his hands on a rag and turns to see Dele’s reaction.

Dele watches his phone with wide eyes and open mouth, rendered speechless. Eric knows exactly what he sees: screenshots from their private Instagram accounts plastered all over the Internet.

Their private candid photos they took on their dates, eating here and there, and on their quiet days in, like this selfie Eric took with Dele tucked into his chest. Sweet captions full of heart emojis and cheesy quotes; family portraits Dele liked to post, of them both with the dogs; artistic photos of Dele’s silhouette, contoured by sunlight, in a nice forest scenery, taken by Eric. Birthday posts wishing all the best to someone much more important than “my brother”.

“Which fucker…?” Dele asks.

“No idea.” If Eric knew, he would already try to hunt him down.

Dele scrolls further.

“They even got my comments from your photos. Hey, you’re single? Slide into my DMs with a winking face. Goddamnit.”

Dele raises his eyes, finally, and thankfully he only looks angry, not sad. It’s easier to deal with it.

“What? Why are you so quiet?” he asks.

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” Dele’s visibly disorientated.

“You didn’t want everyone to know. I’m sorry it happened.” _I would do anything to take it back_ , Eric wants to add.

“Oh, I’m sorry too, that they got the material to laugh at me for years to come. Fucking brutal.”

Now it’s time for Eric to be confused.

“What…?”

“I was trying to keep my face, but no, too late, they all now we’re a cheesy couple out of a romantic comedy. They’ll quote my comments back to my face, I can already tell.” Dele throws his phone on the couch. “I’m staying here forever. I’m not showing my face in England again.”

“But… The season…”

“I’ll move to Sporting. I’ve got connections in the club through one of their old players, don’t know if you heard about him, not really a big star. They’ll take me.”

Eric doesn’t understand what’s going on. “What are you talking about?”

“My public humiliation. I’m done. My image is done.” The words sound right, like the ones Eric expected to hear, but the tone doesn’t match them. If Eric didn’t know any better, he would think Dele’s joking.

“Stop frowning so hard, you’ll get wrinkles, I told you,” he adds, and then he steps into Eric’s arms again and runs his fingers through Eric’s short hair. “Hey. Are you seriously worried?”

“No. I thought you would be.”

“Nah, that would be so 2018 me. 2020 me is a different person. It’s okay. I’m not scared anymore. Are you?”

How could he be, when he has such an example of fearlessness right in front of his eyes?

“Never,” Eric says, and his heart grows and grows with pride and love.

“What we have is good and that’s it on the topic. But we gotta find the fucker who sold us. No kidding. I’ll destroy him.”

“We will destroy him. I’ll help you.” Eric tries to go quickly through the list of people who got access to their private social media, coming with a few doubtful ideas on the traitor. It’s a serious issue, having a mole in their inner circle, so they’ll really have to find the person and sort it out, and-

Dele interrupts his thoughts with a groan.

“Can you imagine the guys in the locker room? I’ll never live that down,” he complains and cuddles closer to Eric.

“Don’t worry, we’ll kill them with PDA. They’ll stop making fun of you just so we stop.”

Dele nods into his chest. “Deal.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Dele should’ve known better. He really really should have. It’s just… When you spend extensive periods of time with the same people, you’re bound to let your guards down, even when you know exactly how badly that might end.

Coming back home on the late flight from the Champions League match is one of the occasions when Dele doesn’t have it in himself to be on his best behaviour. He had videos of him sleeping taken and posted online. He had some compromising photos taken; compromising enough to not ever see the daylight. There were some jokes made on his behalf. Maybe, at this point, he had seen it all, and that’s why he’s that one bit more reckless.

(Or maybe he’s terribly tired, and Eric’s shoulder is just too comfortable not to rest his head against it, and it doesn’t cross Dele’s mind that anything bad in the world could happen. Maybe sometimes Eric has a power to make every single problem feel irrelevant, meaningless. Not that Dele would ever admit it.)

Long story short, Dele rests against Eric as soon as they fall down onto their seats. Eric grumbles about being crushed but doesn’t move away. He gets into more comfortable position; Dele can hear him kick off his shoes and feels his muscles flex when he digs, with one hand, into his backpack. Then, one speaker is carefully placed in Dele’s ear, and a sound of calm music starts covering voices of their teammates who still somehow have the energy to shout at each other.

Dele breaths out and stretches his limbs.

“You’re like a little kitten,” Eric murmurs, and Dele rather feels than hears it, but he can imagine the faux exasperation in his voice that’s supposed to cover the fact that he doesn’t mind it at all.

Dele reaches out his hand and tries to blindly find Eric’s hair. When instead he hits Eric’s nose, his victim catches his hand into his own and guides it down to his chest. He leaves Dele’s hand resting there comfortably, and then, seconds later, Dele feels Eric’s fingers delicately outline his brow.

“Sleep,” he whispers, perfectly fitting into the missing beat of the song. His finger travels to Dele’s cheekbones. “I’ll wake you up when we land.” He scratches Dele’s head and then, the last thing Dele registers is a ghost of a little kiss on his forehead. He falls asleep, deliciously warm and happy.

 

 

 

He’s awaken by a sudden movement and a loud laugh, just inches from his face.

The shoulder he was lying on jumps, and so does Dele, harshly taken out of his dream he immediately loses his grasp on.

He looks around in alarm. Familiar faces quickly remind him of his whereabouts. Winksy is leaning from the seat in front of them, laughing maniacally at whatever he sees on his phone, with one hand trying to force others to come have a look, and Eric is giving him his best glare.

For a second, Dele thinks Winksy must be having a laugh at Eric. At Eric’s phone, maybe?

But then he looks closer and instead of Eric’s Samsung, in Harry’s hold he sees his own iPhone in the familiar purple case.

He sees red.

“Give it back, asshole!” He shouts, his voice cracking after the nap, and he jumps from his seat, blindly swings, but Winksy’s quicker; he’s already out of his reach, two aisles further, showing whatever it is on the phone to Kyle. Dele stumbles through Eric’s too long legs and tries to catch him, but it’s not easy, being only just awoken from his slumber.

“Jan!” Eric shouts though, and it’s enough; Jan raises from his seat in the front of the plane and catches unsuspecting Harry from the back. He holds him easily in one arm, and with another, he’s able to swap the phone away.

Winksy struggles until he’s able to break out of his hold, and then turns to face his oppressor. Dele can imagine the eyes he makes when he lets out along whine. “Jaaaaan. Come oooon.”

“Sorry mate, I don’t like theives.” Jan shrugs, and Harry has to step away. He comes back to his seat like a child that was told off. On the way, he makes a face at Dele like it’s all HIS fault.

Dele walks up to Jan hoping his cheeks aren’t as red as the burning in them would indicate.

Jan squints at him, and before he gives him back his phone, he takes a look at it. He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Shuttup,” Dele mutters, trying to avoid his eyes.

With a phone safe in his pocket, he walks down the aisle. It’s the closest he has ever done to a walk of shame, he thinks.

“Sorry, didn’t manage to stop him,” Eric exlains while moving to let Dele in. He rests his hand on Dele’s back apologetically.

“’s okay.”

“What did he laugh at?”

Dele focuses on his backpack, trying to find something very important there. He’s not sure what.

Some dignity, maybe.

“Oi, Del?”

“Mhm?”

“What was that?”

Dele closes his eyes with defeat and rests his head on the seat in front of him.

“Will you believe me if I say it was nothing?”

“Winksy almost lost it, so no, don’t think so. Maybe I could ask him…”

Eric’s joking, and it’s innocent, but Dele doesn’t want it to turn into actual laughing at him, so he decides to show Eric himself, not rely on Winksy’s storytelling.

“Here.” Dele gives Eric his phone.

Eric turns it in his hands, watches it from every angle.

“Don’t be stupid. Unlock it.”

Eric does. And then he beams at Dele in a way that makes corners of his own mouth lift slightly.

“I’m your lockscreen? Aww, Del.” Eric stares at it grinning widely.

It’s a photo of him in the sunset light, taken in his garden, by Dele himself. He didn’t even know Dele had taken that photo.

It’s a nice one, with an artisty feel to it Dele’s sure he appreciates.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.” Dele tries to sound like he’s mad at the world for uncovering his weakness.

He’s not, not really. He’s over that.

Eric doesn’t say anything, just coaxes Dele to rest back against him. He places another little kiss on his forehead, still staring absently at Dele’s phone.

“Dogs gotta go from my lockscreen, I guess, it’s only fair. They won’t be happy about it,” he warns Dele while moving them back into their comfortable position.

Dele will give them some more treats for stealing their father. That should be enough to bribe them into forgiveness.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

The sound of rain hitting the roof can be heard even through the gentle jazz music. With the lazy atmosphere of a cold autumn evening, Dele doesn’t feel like proposing going out or even playing a FIFA game; he allows himself to curl under the blanket on Eric’s sofa and doesn’t even pretend to be judgemental over the way they spend their evening.

Normally, he would try to force Eric to go somewhere, do something, meet someone. He doesn’t have that relentlessness in himself recently. Since the summer ended, his energy level has dropped, and he accepts and cherishes quiet moments in more than ever.

Maybe he should’ve laughed at Eric’s attempt at making his home feel cosy - the candles he lit up, the music he chose, the fluffy blankets which appeared in his living room lately - maybe he should’ve said it’s very cliche of him, and that he’s an old person inside… but it’s actually nice, the home he created for himself and decided to share with Dele, so Dele lets go of his typical bitchy approach and let’s the comfort lull him into a pleasant haze.

They share the couch, Eric on the opposite side looking as cosy as Dele feels, and they just speak; about evening and nothing, about the years that passed and funny moments they shared, and their family, and Chris’s new haircut, and Harry’s daughter’s cuteness. They move through topics easily, conversation flowing naturally, as it always does for them, even years in, and one second they bicker about the outfits they will wear to the next Christmas party, the other Eric asks him about his plus one.

Dele smiles. “Nah, can’t be bothered.”

“Really? You haven’t met anyone new recently? Harry said he saw-”

“Harry sees whatever he wants to see, it has nothing to do with the truth.” Dele shrugs. “To be honest… I don’t care about it anymore. Will go alone and have more fun than if I take someone just not to be completely alone. I’m over it,” Dele explains in a sluggish matter.

Eric seems worried. “Hey, no, don’t give up. You know there’s someone out there for everyone, you know-”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock” Dele cuts in. “Come on. Will YOU have a plus one?”

It shuts Eric up for a second, but then he disregards the comment.

“You know me. I don’t mind, I’ve got my family-”

“I’ve got mine.” Dele says it in a neutral tone, but Eric seems startled.

“Of course! I just mean. I’m fine. I’m good. But you deserve to have someone by your side, you know. You’re so…”

He seems to lose his focus and then just gives up; shakes his head helplessly.

“I’m fine too,” Dele whispers, sure of his words up till they leave his mouth and he realises- he is, he really is, right here and now, and he wishes that this could go on forever, like he had wished for so long already.

His feelings always felt too powerful, able to overcome him and burn him from the inside, too significant to even consider in danger of never being able to get free from them.

But they don’t now. They are just two mates talking amongst themselves. If he is to ever say what’s on his mind…

Talking to Eric has always been the easiest thing in the world, so Dele opens his mouth and the words just slip.

In the same small voice, offhandedly, he says:

“I’ve been in love with you for years, you know.” Like it’s just a side comment, a little chit chat among friends.

He says it, and the shame he had been so afraid of, so consumed by, just… doesn’t come.

He has been in love with him for years. Simple like that.

The world doesn’t end. Eric doesn’t die of heart attack. He just turns to Dele and Dele can feel his gaze on himself.

“Have you?” He asks in a small voice.

“Yeah. Just thought I would mention it.” Dele whispers. “If we are talking and so on.”

“Good to know,” Eric answers, trying to keep his cool, but Dele hears the edge in his voice.

The world keeps spinning, even though Dele has spilled the biggest secret of his life, and it’s a weird feeling, this calmness that spreads in his body, cause he knows, rationally, that he should be panicking. And yet, saying it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Funny thing,” Eric starts. “Cause I- I’ve been in love with you forever.”

That’s when Dele’s heart skips and suddenly, he’s not so languish anymore. The longing he has felt before, through the years, flares up.

“What?” He stares at Eric, baffled at the answer.

“I’ve been-”

“I know. I heard.” Dele snaps. “Are you serious…?” He whispers, hating the vulnerability he must project.

Eric reaches out and lays his hand on Dele’s knee.

“I would never lie to you, not about this. I’ve been in love with you since the first time we met. I- I thought you wouldn’t- But then you just said it, just like this. Are YOU serious, Del?” It’s his turn to be worried.

“Yeah, Diet. That’s how it is.” Dele nods and forces himself to look at Eric. Only now he realises how big the moment is, when in the dim light, he sees it in Eric’s eyes; love, longing, vulnerability. Hope.

There’s no fireworks, no big gestures, but Dele can feel the change in every last atom of his body.

So he follows it. He lets the longing lead him into Eric’s space, he surrounds to the pleasant attraction, until his nose hits his nose, and his entire world is just Eric.

Just like that. Like this was the way it was always supposed to be.

The kiss tastes like just the first of the million that will follow.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double posting here and on tumblr because attention whore™  
> Also, I wanted it up on the actual day on Eric's birthday

It was Dele’s idea, the whole trip to a shopping centre which was supposed to solve all of his problems. It was too late, at this point, to shop online and have the order delivered; hours spent aimlessly staring at the various offers resulted only in Dele’s eyes irritation (and his overall irritation due to shortage of sleep). No sudden enlightenment while being bombarded by photos of funny mugs. They weren’t funny at all.

Hence the shopping trip.

“Can you explain to me how there’s no, nada, not even one thing I could consider buying?” Dele asked his brother, who accompanied him in this long and tiring journey.

“You’re too picky?”

“Too picky? I would buy anything with the potential. Anything,” Dele whined. “I’m rich, shouldn’t that be, like, the door to success? I have money, I dedicated my time to look for something, I spent whole weeks on it really, I even asked you for help, it’s just-“

“You’re just hopeless,” Harry contributed from where he was choosing the sexy underwear set for Robyn. “See? That’s easy,”

“Maybe for you,” Dele muttered under his breath.

With curiosity, he reached for a second pair of the red lacy pants and with one finger raised them into the air. He realised with horror that they were completely see-through; he flinched and before any unwanted images could hit his head, he dropped the offensive item back and ran after Harry.

“It’s not like I can buy him a pair of fancy knickers and call it a day!” He gasped at Harry who was already paying.

“Why not?” he asked not even turning to Dele.

“Ugh, disgusting,” was Dele’s comment, followed by a gagging sound, and yes, maybe it was kind of fun going out with Harry to make their significant-other-has-a-birthday shopping together, but it still didn’t solve the problem.

Maybe the other Harry would offer more support, Dele reasoned.

 

 

“When it’s Kate’s birthday, I make sure my mum can get babies, and we go out for a nice dinner. You know, just the two of us; candles and jewellery and stuff,” he said after Dele ambushed him in his car. It was the only safe place for them two to talk without anyone listening in, so Dele bolted out of the locker room straight after Harry, who was always the first one ready to go, and jumped in his car without asking for permission.

To Harry’s credit, he didn’t even flinch, and then, when Dele admitted to not being ready yet (even though the day was tomorrow), he took him 100% seriously.

“Fancy dinner? That’s it?”

“It’s romantic!” Harry argued. “Kate loves it. You can buy flowers, or request a song, or-“

“Are you aware of who you’re talking to? We don’t do fancy dates. He doesn’t like flowers. Goood, why did I think you would-“ Dele was already half out of the car when Harry’s hand caught his arm.

“That’s not the point. Don’t do the same thing. Do something that’s yours. Kate loves it, and finds it romantic, that’s why it works every time. What would be the most romantic thing you can do for him?”

“He doesn’t like romantic!” Dele protested; fancy restaurants and flowers and big gestures, it all sounded so soulless.

“So what would show him that you listen to him? That you care?” He asked with solemn expression of a happily married man. Maybe Dele underestimated him. “Would would be truly _yours_?”

And yet, Dele looked at him helplessly, overcome by the task. He had no idea.

 

 

Situation turned into a dramatic lane when it was the evening already, and Dele still didn’t have anything ready. When the clock showed 11pm, Dele had to admit to himself that at this point he wouldn’t be able to buy anything anymore.

Because really, what would be theirs?

He ran upstairs to his bedroom, frantically looking around for some clues, anything that would lead him to the right answer. He opened the drawer in the nightstand to find a selection of unrelated knick-knacks, nothing interesting. He found an abandoned book and then looked up the author just to see he didn’t publish anything else. Finally, he opened his wardrobe, already rolling his eyes at his own idiocy.

But there, covered by a mass of clothes thrown carelessly inside the last time Eric came to visit, at the bottom, a strip of white fabric could be seen.

Dele reached out and tagged at it, soon staring at the wrinkled shirt as if it could solve all his problems. He shook his head, resigned, and decided to just go with it. It would make him seem lazy, and unprepared, and... And pathetic for having it in the first place, possibly dishonest at hiding it... But screw it, Dele said to himself, ready for the day to finally arrive and be over.

He had no other alternative, really, so be it.

Dele couldn’t just give him a pathetic, tangled bundle with no packaging, so he made a quick work of stripping his wall of one of the posters and taking it out of the frame, just to replace it with the shirt. And then, it was ready to be hidden before the showtime.

 

 

There was one thing Dele could give Eric anytime. Kisses. So that’s what he did, making sure he put all his devotion into the task. Birthday love, some may say.

And then, when there was no other way to prolong it even more, he escaped from Eric’s arms and reached for the frame hidden behind the couch.

Suddenly ashamed of his antics, he swayed nervously on his feet. “Here,” he said, pushing the gift into Eric’s hands.

Eric raised his brow at him, glint of amusement in his eyes rubbing Dele the wrong way.

“...my shirt? You’re giving me my shirt? Not that I don’t appreciate it, but...” he didn’t finish, searching for answers on Dele’s blushing face.

“’s’not just a shirt,” Dele mumbled.

“Is it a dig at how old I am? Look what you wore, what, good four years ago?” Eric quipped. “Always knew I could count on you.”

“You don’t get it. It’s THE shirt!”

“The shirt?”

“The shirt. You wore. When we- First. Remember in the locker room, when I...” Dele tried to make a face telling enough that Eric would figure it out. He didn’t. “Look at the bottom.”

He did, and then his eyes flashed with recognition.

It was a shit that was worn before, with some stains that washing didn’t manage to get out of it. The shirt was torn at the bottom. Not in the aggressive playing. Not by too enthusiastic fans.

It was torn by Dele himself, when he clutched on it the first time they kissed, hidden in the room with cleaning equipment in the stadium.

“You mentioned once that you wished... You wished you didn’t lose this one. Well. You didn’t. I kept it,” Dele admitted, flustered.

Eric looked at him with wide eyes.

“You had it?” he asked for confirmation. “This whole time?”

Dele nodded. “I... I might have slept in it? For years actually? Before we got serious, and before you started to sleepover.”

Eric’s smile, the shy, little one, was definitely worth the mortifying ordeal of confessing he kept holding on to the remnant of their first kiss.

He have, for years, never actually admitting to being so gone, so soon.

Eric threw his arms around him and hugged him enthusiastically.

“This is perfect. Thank you, Del. Thank you!”

Dele finally let himself relax, warmth quickly spreading in his body.

“You sure you want to give it to me? Won’t you miss it?”

“I’ve got the real thing right there,” Dele mumbled into the skin on his neck.

And it’s not like it would spend all the time at Eric’s. They could share custody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I would kill for feedback, like, any time

**Author's Note:**

> I posted the drabbles on my blog before, so if they seem familiar, that's probably where you know them from.  
> [dieretmoi.tumblr.com](http://www.dieretmoi.tumblr.com)  
> I'll love you forever for any kind of feedback. ♥ Every chapter is a separate story, so feel free to leave a comment on any of them.


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